


Cadecian Crown

by CloudySonder



Category: Original Work
Genre: (will be updated as chapters are uploaded), Drug Addiction, Drugs, Dystopia, Dystopian Fiction, Fantasy, Gambling, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Partners in Crime, Past Drug Addiction, Romance, Slavery, Slow Burn, casino - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26259571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudySonder/pseuds/CloudySonder
Summary: The story of the country of Cadece to the outside world is one of glory, unity, and independence. Two colonies, Gallade and Terrade, sent by independent countries, united by war.It was a shame no one bothered to look closer.Cassius Fulton, an orphaned Terradian, watches as his fellow Terradians are sold off and exploited day after day. Bitter and trapped in Terrade, now a wasteland of slums and factories, Cass survives off the scraps of information carelessly thrown to him. Gallian words, Gallian names, Gallian politics. He collects them carefully, waiting for a day to come where he could finally cross the Border.Vivian Barnett, an eccentric Gallian, hates nobility. Wanting to topple the monarchy for his own revenge, Vivian opens a casino on the Border between Gallade and Terrade, exploiting Gallian nobles and offering naive Terradians a double-edged sword.One game of poker between a drug dealer and an ex-noble can change more than you think.
Relationships: Cassius Fulton/Vivian Barnett
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. Cassius Fulton

One more delivery. One more, and Cassius wouldn't have to smell the sickeningly sweet scent of Bluebell for a week. 

The muddy Terradian roads were barely lit, much less populated. Cassius cursed the silence, cursed the lack of anything to focus on, cursed the way his fingers kept twitching towards the drugs stuffed in his pockets. Bluebell, to Cass, had an unmistakable weight in his pockets, a distinct sound, as the coarse powder ground against itself, and the smell, the _fucking_ smell. The last light for a few hundred paces began to flicker above Cass, its barely yellow light struggling to stay lit. Cass glared at it as if the light would be intimidated into working an engineering marvel.

It didn't.

The bulb had the nerve to bust, and that left Cass in darkness, with nothing but the scent of Bluebell wrapping its enticing tendrils around his head. Cass gritted his teeth and tried to picture the Terradian streets in front of him: narrow, gravelly lines with potholes every other step. He pictured the alleys and makeshift shacks the slum kids called home, and the concrete apartment buildings above them that were no better, but at least shielded well enough from rain. 

He knew the look of a Terradian apartment well. Knew how to fit 10 people in a room that could barely fit a desk and a bed. Knew how to live in that room, as everyone else did, because Terradians, no matter what others said, knew how to survive.

All you needed was desperation, and Terradians had more than enough to go around. The weaker ones, who couldn't take the feeling, either turned to a knife or turned to Bluebell, which killed you in all the ways that mattered. 

It would have probably been easier for someone else to do this delivery. Rowan, maybe, wouldn't care about the smell, or the weight, or the sound, wouldn't be thinking of it as any different as the sacks of ingredients he lugged daily. 

But Cass _knew_. 

He felt the ground under him change from loose gravel to solid concrete and knew he had stepped out. A few steps more and he'd be able to see three paces ahead of him, as the Border, abandoned and empty as it was, was still brighter than Terrade.

He blinked a few times to adjust to the dim wisps of light that greeted him ahead. He walked along narrow alleyways between nice, albeit plain buildings, with wide windows and spacious, empty rooms, and walls made with wooden planks and brick instead of the cardboard of Terradian slums and the gray concrete of Terradian apartments.

He reached the small, dimly lit alleyway at last and found it to be empty. Annoyed, he tugged at the edge of his hood with his left hand, covering his face, and reached for the daggers in his sleeve with his right, leaning against the brick wall behind him while waiting.

A figure stumbled into the alleyway minutes later, and Cass grimaced at the sight. A pale hand scrambled for a grip on the bricks of the surrounding walls, and his entire stature sagged upon finding one. His breathing, if you could call it that, seemed to escape him in a series of too-long wheezes that sounded almost like laughter, as if someone was squeezing the air from his chest.

The man slowly turned up and met Cass' gaze, a vacant smile pasted on his face. His unfocused eyes weren't looking at Cass, not really, and the next wheezing breath out of him brought with it the distinct smell of Bluebell.

Cass fought the urge to plug his nose and back away, instead choosing to tighten his grip on the knives in his sleeves, trying to draw comfort from the familiar feel of their leather handles. He looked at the man's layered black hoodie, an expensive brand name sewn on the hems of the sleeves and his name (Johnathan Finch) embroidered in tiny red letters on the collar. Cass wanted desperately to forget about the drugs lining his pockets and shift to picking through the money and the coins that were probably in Johnathan's.

Instead, Cass muttered, " _Money?"_ He hated how the whisper reverberated through the alley but hated more that he could hear his Terradian dregs of an accent in his Gallian. 

Johnathan laughed, a horrendous sound of hissing coughs that left him breathless afterward.

 _"Hello to you too, eh?"_ He whispered and smiled at Cass, too wide. _"Here, take your, take your money."_

Cass picked up the wad of cash with steady hands, counting the bills in his head, before dropping three bags of Bluebell into Johnathan's waiting hands.

His fingers tightened around the bags, and his other hand reached for Cass' wrist and gripped it tight. 

_"I don't want to be doing this, you know."_ Brown eyes blinked owlishly at Cass, and Johnathan's smile looked desperate now, as if he was on the verge of tears. _"But I don't have any other choice, and it's you, damn you, that gives me the choice-- the powder, the powder, I hate it, I need it, you don't underst an d, I_ need _it--"_

Johnathan pulled a gun from his pocket and Cass stiffened, glowering at him. His right hand had already wrapped itself around his knives, but stabbing his clients was never good, though getting shot was less so.

 _"You, you're just a dirty, a stupid Terra and you're ruining my,_ my _life,"_ Johnathan threw the bags of Bluebell on the ground and grabbed Cass' cheek, digging the sharp nail of his thumb into Cass' lip until Cass felt the blood trickling down his chin. When Johnathan made the move to lift his gun, Cass made a split-second call and stabbed Johnathan in the thigh.

Johnathan gasped before groaning in pain and crumpling to the ground in a teary, vicious heap. His gun lay uselessly beside him as he grabbed for his bloody leg. The smile was gone now, the desperation replaced by genuine loathing, his blown-out pupils falling on Cass, glaring at him through the tears of pain.

 _"Terratrash_ . _"_

The words were said with such repugnance that Cass bristled immediately, but he ground his teeth and left the alley, vaguely thankful at least that the smell of Bluebell didn't follow him. 

He looked up at the sky, a cloudy canvas of blacks and blues, the slight luminescent white lacings of a few clouds the only proof that the moon was there at all. The Gallians called nights like these _phantom moons,_ like the pretentious pricks they were. Terradians called them lucky, as any night that didn't rain or snow was.

Cass dug his fingernails into his wrists upon taking a breath, hoping that the lingering scent of Bluebell was as _phantom_ as the moon, but knowing better than to believe it was a byproduct of his subconscious. 

He shrugged deeper into his rumpled jacket against the cold and entered an abandoned building, still on the Border, climbing the twirling stairwells until he approached the door leading to the roof.

He fished two lockpicks out of the lining of his hood and relaxed at the sound of the triumphant click of the lock. The door opened, and Cass left it so, walking over to the edge of the roof and sitting down, letting his legs dangle over the ledge.

Just fifteen minutes of him with empty pockets on an abandoned roof, and the wind would take away the scent of Bluebell that stubbornly clung to him. Fifteen minutes more of Fulton, the drug dealer, and then he’d turn back to Cass to face his family. 

The building he'd chosen tonight was the tallest one in the vicinity, and he could see the clean lines separating the country of Cadece into two sectors. 

_“Terratrash…”_ Cass rolled the Gallian insult on his tongue. It tasted posh, foreign. He leaned his elbows on his thighs and stared. It was so dark on the Border he could barely see himself, much less the darker Terradian streets behind him, but the Gallian avenues glowed with white light, distant white marble mansions imbued with golden lamps, surrounded by perfectly trimmed bushes and trees. Orderly beauty materialized.

He’d heard some people say that Gallade looked like heaven, all pearly white and perfect. 

“ _Terratrash._ ”

Posh.

_Foreign._

But it shouldn’t have been. Heaven wasn't supposed to look as close as Gallade did, and yet Gallade was more unattainable.

It was in no way a new thought, but Cass ground his teeth and hissed at the consequent pain on his lip. He swore to stop dealing out of nowhere one day, so that Johnathan, that Gallian bastard, would get withdrawal so colossally shitty that he’d stay trapped in his 14-carat gold bathroom like the piece of shit he was.

Even so, he appreciated the word on his lips. 

_"Terratrash,"_ Cass repeated. This time, his accent was nearly gone, and Cass could feel the starting of triumph in his chest. 

Gallian words rolled off a Terradian tongue until his lips went numb, and he shook himself off as he got up to leave the roof as if the dregs of Bluebell would fall off and liberate him.

He walked back down the steps feeling lighter, but emptier, and he hated himself for the disappointment that simmered under his skin. 

The Border was believed to be empty. For higher class Gallians, it was the uncrossable line between Gallade and Terrade, a wall that dictated your life depending on which side you were on. Terradians avoided it, but not for the reasons Gallians expected.

Even the poor could fall lower. The Border was where you landed.

Terradians unlucky and desperate enough to enter the Border never left, and the Border’s brothels and Bluebell dens hollowed people that were naive enough to think themselves empty. Nearly all the establishments were underground, quiet, discrete businesses that offered Gallians a chance to rest their pretentious heads in Terradian ways: namely, sex and drugs.

Those who didn’t know wouldn’t find out. The Border, as far as they were concerned, was empty. But it wasn’t. It was just quiet. 

Until that casino had popped up two years ago. It was garish and showy and loud and far too bright, colored lights blasting from every angle. It stuck out in the dark Border like a sore thumb, the only light for hundreds of meters on the one day of the week it opened.

The casino was closed that day, leaving the Border dark and quiet.

Cass walked slowly, as he did every time, just to watch the secondhand Gallian light of the Border fade so slowly you’d never notice you were standing in pitch darkness until the ground changed from concrete to dirt and gravel, and you’d blink, and realize you’d never be able to tell the difference between the world behind your eyelids and the world past them. That was Terrade.

Cass knew how to navigate the darkness purely by muscle memory and walked quietly in the dirt beside the gravel roads, walking deeper into the heart of Terrade before stopping in front of a beaten-down shack. The wooden planks of the roof were more moss and mold than wood, caving in at the center, and the pillars holding it up were shaky at best. The sign marking the shack a “BAR” was only attached by one nail in one corner, hanging crookedly over the doorframe.

Cass grimaced at the dirty handle of the door, nudging it aside with his boot, before slipping inside. A few strands of moonlight trickled in through the gaps in the roof, shining on a moldy wooden floor. There was no furniture in the shack; just a thin, threadbare rug in the center of the room. He swept a corner of it aside with the sole of his boot, revealing a staircase downward. 

Cass walked downstairs, breathing in the faint scent of whiskey and vodka and smoke, and the tension began to slip out of his limbs. The sight of the pale lights, the clean, polished wood of the floor, and the bar, which held carvings no one would ever expect to see in Terrade, relaxed him. His movements became tired instead of nimble, and he only vaguely registered the underground bar as empty before he collapsed on a stool in front of the counter, dropping his head into his arms to close his eyes for a few blissful seconds.

“Hey!” The cheerful voice chirped above him, and Cass kept his face buried in his arms, exhausted. “I was worried you wouldn’t show!”

Cass gave a noncommittal hum in response before the voice registered, and he blearily blinked up at the man above him.

“Rowan. Ain’t it supposed to be Rose’s shift today?” Cass took a second to take in the way Rowan cleaned the glass in his hands more sluggishly than usual, dark eyebags hanging under his bright brown eyes.

Rowan only snorted, smiling in that overly sunny way of his as he replied, “Happy to see you too, Cass!”

“Rose sick?” 

Cass watched Rowan’s smile drain from his face, and the rag stopped drifting over the whiskey glass in his hand. 

“Pregnant,” Rowan’s voice was barely over a whisper. He refused to make eye contact with Cass, staring resolutely at the polished wood of the bar as he swallowed thickly. “ _Was_ pregnant. You know how it is.”

Cass nodded. He glanced at Rowan’s shaking hands, and pretended not to see the tears pooling in his eyes.

“Blood?” Cass asked.

“So, so much of it,” Rowan breathed out. He set the clean whiskey glass down on the counter and put his head in his hands. “Mare said, well not _said_ per se, but he told me it wasn’t dangerous, that she wasn’t gonna die, and that it would just be some cramps and stuff, and it seemed alright at the time, but just, just, _God,_ Cass, it’s my baby sister.”

Cass stayed quiet, watching Rowan run his hands through his messy curls. 

“I just, I thought she just poured drinks at the brothels, but I didn’t think, I, I just, I’m so _stupid_ , and she was crying, I heard her, in the middle of the night, when she thought no one was there, and it’s Rose, you know; she doesn’t cry. And all I can do is hold her hair and pour drinks and smile like normal.” A self-deprecating smile crawled across his lips. Rowan swiped at the tears on his cheeks. 

Rowan’s sniffles echoed through the empty bar, and Cass sat quietly as Rowan steadily put himself back together, taking a few deep breaths while wiping at the already spotless bar. 

“Alcohol?” Cass asked, after Rowan’s movements steadied.

“No. You shouldn’t.” 

_You_ shouldn’t, instead of _I_ shouldn’t, Cass noted. He gritted his teeth as he tried to let go of the threads of anger that were twisting at the words. He clenched the fraying ends, couldn’t stop himself from pulling, from wanting to say “Why?” and “Don’t be so patronizing,” and “How weak do you think I am?” just to see Rowan flounder. He met eyes with Rowan as he opened his mouth to let the bitter words loose, only to see Rowan’s dark circles, his tired resignation settling itself in his usually bright eyes, and the anger drained out of Cass.

“Ok,” Cass said.

Rowan smiled gratefully back at him, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He reached out to ruffle Cass’ hair, and Cass flinched back. Rowan’s face went through seventeen different variations of hurt, before settling on a strange-feeling pity. Cass’ frustration returned tenfold.

“Did… was… I mean, did that person, did she…?”

“No,” Cass bit out. “And you can say her name. It’s been three years. It won’t hurt you.”

“But it might hurt you,” Rowan replied. 

“I’m _fine._ Worry about Rose.” Cass tried to ignore the way Rowan twitched. He watched Rowan swallow his own worry and pause for a moment.

“I’m always here for you, you know, Cass, same way you are for me.” Rowan’s voice was thick with ill-deserved affection. 

Cass only hummed in response.

“...alright.” Rowan gave Cass a weak smile, before pulling out a deck of cards from under the bar. He took in a deep breath, splitting the deck into two halves, before starting to shuffle. “Mare gave Rose two types of pills.

“He said the first one would make the pregnancy stop growing, and the second would… flush it out of her.” The cards idly flipped between Rowan’s experienced hands, the mark of a casino bartender. “She was screaming, it hurt so bad.” Rowan stopped to put the deck back together. “It wasn’t her choice, I think. She has a black eye and a few nasty cuts.”

“Stitches?” Cass asked.

“Yeah. We had to give her some vodka to help while we stitched her up ‘cause she didn’t want the Bluebell.” 

Cass glanced at the bruises on Rowan’s hand and grimaced as he imagined Rose on Mare’s table, getting sewn up by his assistant with only a bottle of vodka, clenching her brother’s hand. He shoved the guilt for her fear of Bluebell down somewhere deep, for her resignation to painful procedures instead of taking the blissful numbness.

“Cass, you okay?” Rowan’s voice pulled him out of the stupor. “I -- sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned the, the, yunno.”

“The Bluebell?” Cass schooled his tone to nonchalance, just to be difficult. Rowan grimaced.

The air hung heavy between them. Rowan looked unsure of how to proceed, and frustration roiled inside of Cass at being treated like glass. Rowan dealt the cards between them evenly, implicitly offering a round of Egyptian Massacre. 

Cass stared at the cards in front of him, forcefully trying to tamp his anger down. 

_There’s a golden statue in the center of the plaza,_ he let his mother’s familiar words echo through his head, a Terradian-accented Gallian that whispered gently in his ear on cold nights when his mother held him like he was everything precious in the world. The same story, over and over, until he’d memorized it, word for word. _If you closed your eyes and listened, you’d hear the quiet running of water._

Cass felt himself settle at the memory, and he took a deep breath before gathering his half of the deck, straightening it, and looking at Rowan. He offered Rowan a small smile, and Rowan beamed back, relief radiating off of him in waves.

“Ready to be crushed?” Rowan reshuffled his cards.

“When have I ever?”

Rowan snickered, and put down the first card. 

After a few rounds, Rowan started to talk about the customers he’d served at the bar today, excitement illuminating his features as he shared gossip and stories. Cass let him, while silently looking for any over-sluggishness in his movements, any proof of a bar fight gone wrong, or a simple accident behind the bar.

It’d been a while since he’d found any, though. Everybody in Terrade knew not to start a fight in the West Bar, one of the cleanest places that still remained available to everyone. And those who didn’t… well… 

Cass felt the outline of his dagger’s handle under his sleeve. Rumors traveled fast in Terrade, a fact that kept any Terradian with half a mind out of Cass’ way. Convenient, sure, but unintentional. He barely remembered the events that people feared him for, too doped up on Bluebell to much recall the way his blade sliced through flesh and bone and far too gone to stop.

The Wests had stayed by him anyway, letting Cass lean against the half-built walls of the bar, spouting nonsense with an empty smile and blown out pupils. 

Rowan stayed by his side, offering him smiles and cheerful gossip as Cass dealt with the lows that came with the high, the mind-splitting migraines and nausea. Rose let Cass drink through the pain some nights, understanding his need for numbness and refilling his shot glass whenever his eyes got too clear. 

Ryleigh was the first one Cass told he wanted to stop using Bluebell, and she’d taken him off it slowly, locking him in a bathroom to deal with withdrawal every few nights, sliding him meals with the occasional letter written by her younger brother Rowan, who was emotional enough for all three of them. And Rockwell, well, he owed Rockwell the world.

Cass looked at Rowan, listening to him rant on about the drinking tendencies of the steel factory workers, and was reminded of the reason why he’d given out every single bag of Bluebell instead of keeping the extras for himself. 

A reason, Cass thought, that was much more trouble than he’d originally thought. He leaned forward on the bar after winning the last round and asked Rowan for the names and faces of the people who touched Rose.

He’d already stabbed one person today. What were three more?

…

Cass tied three men’s hands and ankles by the ripped fabric of their booze-soaked clothing, their bodies slack after he’d gotten a good hit to their jaws. Each sported at least a few visible bruises on their face, and the heavy feeling of satisfaction settled at the memory of the feeling of Henrik’s nose cracking under the hilt of his dagger.

He settled for no open wounds. Infection ran rampant in the Terradian slums, and the slow death that followed was excruciating. He satiated his own bursts of anger through the memories of the helpless fear that had carved itself into the faces of the three men as he twisted their arms until he’d heard a pop, the dread that fell on them like a veil as they turned and recognized him. 

The blows were emotional, but he’d counted out the damage beforehand, the number of bruises he wanted to give, the places he’d wanted to leave them.

His knocks echoed through the dark alleyways. 

Ryleigh answered the door, her face unreadable. 

“Rose?” Cass’ voice came out gritty and breathless. Ryleigh glanced at his bruised knuckles but didn’t comment as she turned her back and walked into the apartment, leaving the door open behind her.

He didn’t miss the way she took deeper breaths than normal, as if she was sniffing for something in the air.

“Rose.” Ryleigh brushed a strand of brown hair, clumped together by sweat, behind her sister’s ear, as Rose laid under a thin blanket on the couch. 

Cass wondered, vaguely, what her steely gang bosses would think of her if they knew how quickly her voice dropped to a soft, steady lilt the second she saw her siblings. 

“I--” Rose’s voice was hoarse and hollow, and was it too late for Cass to go back and skewer the fuckers, because he could, he-- “Cass. What’s wrong?” 

Cass held on to the threads of control he had, knowing that he needed to at least offer the reigns to Rose.

“I have them,” Cass replied, schooling his tone to neutral. “Tied up, unconscious, outside.” 

He watched Rose process the news, her features going sharp with panic, and Cass knew that she wasn’t seeing him when she stared at his face. Her breath caught. She blinked when Ryleigh tugged on her hair and breathed out a shaky breath.

“...all of them?” Rose asked quietly.

“Three.” Cass held her gaze. She had the same eyes that Rowan did, round, dark brown irises that looked at you with trust and hope so blindingly bright that you wanted to turn away. Even now, the Rose looking at him with a gaunt face and trembling hands, for whatever inexplicable reason, believed in him. “What do you want to do?”

Rose broke eye contact, seeming to weigh the options as she stared at the cheap carpet in the living room.

“Did you scare them?” Rose asked. “Enough to not… do that again?”

“Yeah.” _Not to you, at least._

She wrapped the blanket tighter around herself. “Then that’s, that’s enough. I think you can let them go.”

Cass saw the resemblance to a younger Rowan. The current Rowan had given him the names and faces of the men without an ounce of hesitation, spitting them out like they were acid on his tongue. Rowan wouldn’t have let them go. Despite his bright-eyed optimism and smiles, Rowan, somewhere along the way, had lost his naivete. Rose still had some to lose. Cassius would delay that happening for as long as he could.

Cass nodded and turned to leave, ready to cut the men loose. 

As soon as he heard the door click shut behind him, a hand gripped his wrist. Cass flinched before meeting Ryleigh’s gaze. He forced himself to relax, despite his heart pounding in his chest.

“Where are they?” She asked.

“I left them in an alley.” 

“Damage?” 

“Just what they did to Rose. Do unto those what you want to be done to yourself, and all that bullshit.” Cass replied.

“Just that? Nothing else?” She raised an eyebrow at him. 

“I like a little twist. And if you’re here for what I think you are, you’ll find out soon anyway.” Cass shrugged, before walking towards the alley, Ryleigh following a few paces behind. 

They were supposed to still be unconscious. Two out of three wasn’t terrible, Cass supposed. The odd man out groaned in pain.

Ryleigh looked at the man’s dislocated shoulder. 

“A ‘twist,’ huh?” Ryleigh’s face did something that might’ve been a smile.

“Fucker,” The man, Henrik, probably, hissed at Cass. “Broke my fucking nose, you midget fuck!” 

Cass stared impassively down at him, willing himself not to bristle at the hostility.

“Should you really be saying that to someone with knives?” Ryleigh asked from beside him. 

Henrik snorted. “Knives don’t matter much if he’s too chickenshit to use ‘em, do they?”

Cass swallowed thickly, holding onto the reigns on his anger with a steady grip. _There’s a golden statue--_

“Everyone knows that Fulton only pulled those blades out when he was high off his rocker. And now he ain’t. Think you’re better than us now that you’re sober?” Henrik snarled at him. “You’re not. Now you’re just sober and miserable and all talk and--”

 _Fuck the statue._ Cass sank his blade down Henrik’s thigh. Whatever he would’ve said escaped him, as his words cut off in a strangled scream. The feeling of his blade hitting bone steadied him, and he pulled his dagger out of Henrik.

He took a deep breath in, hoping the cool air would settle his ire. It took an immense amount of control to turn his back on the three bound mice, but he squeezed Ryleigh’s shoulder as he walked away. 

“All yours.”

...

Ryleigh emerged from the shadowed alley about half an hour later, her eyes unreadable as she glanced towards Cass. 

“Still here?” She reached in her pocket and lit up a cigarette. “What do you need?”

Cass had been leaning against a concrete wall for the past half-hour, trying not to fall asleep, and his words came out in a sleepy slur.

“No blood?”

“None where you can see it.” She replied, breathing in the smoke. Cass knew better than to ask more about the men, or where their bodies would end up. The cigarette smoke curled around Ryleigh, moonlight hitting the clouds just enough to reflect in her sharp eyes. Her short brown hair curled in uneven cuts on the nape of her neck, from the times she’d sliced through her hair with a dagger so her enemies would have nothing to hold onto. 

No blood. No witnesses. Sharp eyes and smoke. Cass’ left side was numb from the concrete and his eyes were threatening to close. She could kill him, Cass knew, within the minute. The reminder stilled him, but for whatever reason, he wasn’t scared.

“So?” Ryleigh raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you need?”

“Rowan.”

“What about him?” She instantly looked more interested.

“Played a card game with him today. His reflexes are too slow, and he’s got a shift at that goddamn casino tomorrow night. He needs backup. Have a few of your goons follow him or something.”

“The shifts, right, since Rose was--” Ryleigh glared at the ground. “ _Fuck._ I didn’t notice he was that tired.”

“Too good at hiding it,” Cass agreed. “But, Ry, he’s exhausted. The casino doesn’t have the same rules as the bar does. If someone gets pissed--”

“I _know._ ” 

“Then--”

“I _can’t,”_ Ryleigh gritted out. “We’re running a job tomorrow night, and we need every single body. It’s been in the works for weeks, if I ditch they’ll--” Ryleigh kicked the wall, and the sound reverberated down the alley. “ _Fuck._ Cass, you need to go with him.”

“I…” Cass paused. He’d need to switch the meeting place, and the prick handing out the lists of meeting times and places for Bluebell deals had a history of being petty. He didn’t need Rowan to be there when one of the prick’s practical jokes pushed Cass to the edge. “It wouldn’t be ideal.”

“And why the fuck is that?” Ryleigh glared at him. “You don’t have a job. No one’s exactly raring to hire a junkie, are they?”

“Shut up,” Cass snarled, but there was no heat behind it. “I could steal your position the second you turned your back.”

“Didn’t know you were so keen on beating up other junkies.” She gave him a look of faux-surprise.

“Bet you imagine my face on everyone you punch the shit out of,” Cass grumbled.

“Why do you think I’m so good at it?” Ryleigh turned to Cass and gave him a bonafide smile, which was far scarier than any threat she could’ve offered. A comfortable silence hung between them before Ryleigh finished her cigarette and snuffed it out on the wall behind her. “So?”

“I… can’t promise anything,” Cass said slowly. “But I’ll try.”

She smiled at him again and ruffled a hand through his hair, not reacting even when he flinched away. “All I ask, Cass.”

Cass sighed. Her hand on his head was cold, but steady, a grounding presence, just like she’d always been.

“Want to take my knives? My gun?” Ryleigh offered.

“No, mine are fine,” Cass replied. “Yours are too heavy, and I wouldn’t want anything to happen to your dear North and South.”

“I know you’re making fun of my knives’ names, but I, unlike you, are able to appreciate how clever my naming skills are.”

“A West holding two knives named North and South and a gun called East is not clever.”

“You’re not clever,” Ryleigh replied childishly, and Cass was reminded that she shared blood with Rowan. “But thanks, baby bro. Be careful.”

“I’ll try.”

Ryleigh rolled her eyes but helped him up before she walked away, back to Rose and Rowan in their shabby apartment. Cass scribbled “ _Change of plans-- 7 at casino”_ in messy Gallian on a piece of paper he fished from his pocket and dropped it in a pothole next to a street, knowing it’d find its way.

Cass rubbed at his eyes, exhausted, and trudged back to a small apartment room he shared with five strangers, curling up in a threadbare blanket on the concrete floor before falling into a dreamless sleep.


	2. Vivian Barnett

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vivian Barnett meets someone interesting.

Vivian Barnett was smiling, as always. 

He relished the way his shoes clicked against the marble floors, the way his suit fit snugly around his shoulders. He caught a glimpse of his reflection, and his expression shuttered, but only slightly.

Armies won wars with steel armor and sharp weapons. Vivian would win his alone, with nothing but a smile.

Only fools mistook it for happiness. Luckily, most of the world was made of fools.

He leaned against the banister of the casino’s loft, tucked away from the flashiness of the slot machines and the card tables. He looked out to a sea of people, humming along to the instrumental playing on the speakers.

The view was chilling, as it always was, a reminder that someone like him built something like this: a house where rank and Terradian-Gallian borders didn’t exist, a world of gamblers instead of people. This isolated dimension where only skill could separate, where machines and cards were the only currency in an addicting cycle-- the world he’d imagined as a child.

_ “It’s like a dream, Vivian,”  _ The familiar voice echoed in his head, a scratchy accented Terradian, all warm tones and trusting lilts. _ “Lady luck’s on your side, so just let yourself reach for the dream.” _

Vivian felt his smile freeze on his face.

The memory started simmering under his skin, hatred threatening to bubble to the surface. He took a long breath in, smoothly adjusting a button on his dark red suit, and the air stuttered in an empty sound resembling a snort on the way out.

Luck. Vivian had been foolish enough to believe in it, once. He knew the boy he was watching certainly did.

The green-eyed Labelle boy couldn’t be younger than twenty, but he sat at the poker table, eyes focused on his cards like a child reading a new language. His school-taught Terradian was formal, grammatically-correct strings of words clumsily falling from his tongue with too much grace and too little intuition. 

Naive, spoiled, and powerful: the easiest hand of cards to play.

Vivian forcibly relaxed his smile as he stepped on to the elevator. If he was religious, he might’ve asked Gryst for forgiveness for what he was about to do, praying for the guilt not to haunt his dreams or taint his future. But he wasn’t, so he didn’t.

After all, Vivian Barnett didn’t dream; he planned.

He adjusted his ring on his finger, the rough surface of the cheap metal reminding him of the future he’d gripped with shaking hands, and his hand unconsciously fell to the pistol in his holster.

When Vivian met him again, he’d-- no, a clean shot to the head was too kind. He’d rob him first, of everything he held dear, of everything he’d earned since the day he first got on that plane; Vivian would strip him down to the thin shell of a man his beloved Gryst had made him by nature and watch him collapse.

Where would his Lady Luck be then? 

Vivian felt his smile teeter on the edge of hysteria and quickly pulled the reigns back in. His shoes clicked on the floor of the casino as he stepped out of the elevator, but it took a shot of whiskey before Vivian’s smile felt natural again. 

He looked towards the poker table.

Theodore Labelle had obviously never visited a casino in his life. He sat too perfectly, his poker face looked like it had been messily pasted on his face, and his playing was textbook. He refused to make high bets and folded easily, which meant that he was being crushed by the experienced gamblers beside him.

He’d quit any second now.

Vivian couldn’t have that. 

He made a hand signal towards the current dealer, who respectfully wished the players a lovely night before bowing out. Vivian quickly replaced him, immediately reaching for one of the new decks of cards under the table.

“Hello, gentlemen.” Vivian’s Terradian was formal, but he was fluent enough to be relaxed. “Lovely night for gambling, isn’t it?” 

He looked around the table, recognizing all of his regulars: three experienced gamblers that obviously recognized Theodore as the rookie he was, relaxing back in their chairs. Besides Theodore, there was only one face he didn’t recognize. 

He was Terradian, obviously; a patchwork jacket hung on his small frame, and he’d obviously sewn lockpicks into his sleeves. His gray eyes (though for a second, Vivian could’ve sworn they were silver) kept flickering between the bar and the people sitting around the table. He tugged on his black hair as he silently scanned the players.

A lockpick, and judging by the way his gaze darted towards Theodore’s pockets, a pickpocket. He definitely had a talent for smelling money, Vivian would give him that.

“So what’s in your pockets tonight, gentlemen?” Vivian asked the table. 

“Er?” Theodore tilted his head, confused, as he fished in his suit pockets. “I have… a few, er--” He switched to Gallian to mutter  _ “what do you call it”  _ under his breath before switching back to Terradian. “Fountain pens! I have a few fountain pens.”

“Kid, he meant what are ya bettin’?” The gambler beside him, a Terradian named Gabe, snickered. 

“Oh. Uh, chips?” Theodore tried.

Gabe slapped Herman, the gambler sitting next to him, on the shoulder as he laughed. “No, bud, he’s askin’ where you’re gettin’ the money!”

Herman snorted as Theodore flushed. He turned to Vivian, who began to shuffle the new deck.

“Mother-in-law’s anniversary present for me-- lady doesn’t know anything about me besides that I like money.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Gabe quipped. “Next time, ask her to buy ya a Border girl, eh?  _ That’s  _ a present that everyone likes! Cheaper, too, amirite?”

Vivian resisted the urge to grimace.  _ Lowlives. _ The silver-eyed Terradian’s face turned vicious from the corner of his eye. He sent a deadly glare Gabe’s way, and the smile fell off Gabe’s face so quickly Vivian nearly didn’t recognize him. Vivian nearly snickered, but he kept it in.

Gabe cleared his throat before putting a small smile back on. “Anyway, playin’ straight off my paycheck today, as per usual. How about you, lil’ Gallian?”

Theodore forced a smile, clearly uncomfortable, and shrugged. “I have some extra money on my college fund.”

“College?” Gabe elbowed the kid in the side. “Look at you! Spending your last day as a free man with us scum, eh?” Gabe guffawed. 

Gabe pointedly ignored the silver-eyed Terradian and motioned for Vivian to start dealing.

“You didn’t ask those two.” Theodore frowned.

“Ah. Forgot you weren’t familiar with Terrade.” Gabe motioned to the last regular gambler at the table. “Manny o’er there used to be a Gallian butler, but he poured the tea wrong once so they cut his tongue out. Oi Manny, open yer mouth!”

Manny rolled his eyes but complied. Theodore flinched back so hard Vivian thought he’d fall out of his seat.

“And well, I dunno, the last kid there don’t seem too talkative.” Gabe’s voice was cautious. “Doubt he’d even tell us his name.”

The silver-eyed Terradian snorted. 

Vivian kept an eye on him as he shuffled, noting how he kept staring towards the bar directly behind Vivian.

He hummed softly to the upbeat jazz playing from the speakers as he ran the cards through a few false shuffles, memorizing the order of the deck to the beat of the music. 

Ace, king, seven-- The trumpets blared above him. Six, eight, four-- a cymbal crash.

Despite all his time at the shipyards, with loud Terradians whose only joy was in a few clumsy jumps to a cheap jig, Vivian had never become fond of dancing.

He’d stay on the deck of the ship, watching the sailors party below him, and listen to the crashing of the waves and the improvised music as his only toy, a deck of cards, flipped through his hands. 

He taught himself sleight of hand and false shuffles from watching the magicians at the ports and practiced constantly, whether it was noon, where he’d hide from the boisterous shuffle of busy sailors, or midnight, where the sea was so dark, he’d barely see his hands.

He’d shuffle a deck instead of putting his hands together to pray to Gryst. Fitting then, that this was where he’d end up. 

“There’s no Gryst in a casino,” Vivian started.

“Only Lady Luck.” Herman and Gabe finished.

“May she smile upon you,” Vivian smiled. Not that she would have anything to do with how the games would go tonight. He’d dealt Theodore a winning hand, and the rest of them half-decent hands that they’d bet good money on.

Theodore needed to win a few rounds, just to build his confidence, and then, as all amateur gamblers do, he’d get reckless. Vivian could sweep a few million sule away with a single “unlucky” shuffle.

“Hm, not bad, not bad,” Gabe singsonged. “I’ll start; bet for 200.”

The silver-eyed Terradian studied him, narrowing his eyes before he went next. “Raise. 220.”

“You got guts,” Herman muttered, glancing at his cards before sighing. “I’ll fold.”

_ Smart _ , Vivian thought. 

Manny made the hand gesture to call. 

“Um,” Theodore blinked at his cards. “I’ll raise it to 300, please.”

Gabe gawked at him before he called, the silver-eyed Terradian folded, and Manny raised. Gabe and Manny were stubborn until the end, and Theodore won over 1500 sule in the first game alone, looking infinitely pleased with himself.

Vivian dealt another game, and again, the silver-eyed Terradian and Herman folded early while Gabe and Manny only upped their bets.

Theodore won that round as well, winning 3000 sule and looking breathless, as if he’d just won a marathon. Vivian caught the silver-eyed Terradian staring at Theodore intently. 

Good instincts, but Theodore wasn’t a cheater. 

He felt the gaze turn to him. Vivian smiled back.

_ Very  _ good instincts, but there was nothing the Terradian could do about it.

He dealt the next round, as deliberately as always, giving Theodore a full-house and the Terradian a two-pair; neither were bad hands, and most gamblers would bet good money for them.

The five men checked their hands before leaving them face down on the table. 

Theodore smiled, now loftily confident. The Terradian looked as impassive as always.

“I’ll start, and I’ll bet 300.”

“Has anyone ever told you you have a terrible poker face? You have a good hand, don’t you?” Gabe pushed. “I’ll fold this round.”

“Lady Luck’s sure smiling on you today,” Herman added. “I’ll fold.”

Manny called.

“Raise. 7000 sule.” The Terradian said, his voice a bored monotone. 

The table went silent. 

“Kid, you kidding?” Gabe asked.

“Why would I be?” The Terradian didn’t even bother to look at him.

Manny made the hand gesture to fold. Theodore chewed his lip, before eventually choosing to call.

They revealed their hands, and Vivian blinked at the table.

The Terradian had the full-house.  _ How did--? _ Vivian didn’t mess up, so the Terradian must’ve switched the hands when they were face down on the table. 

Vivian had been a dealer for long enough to see his fair shares of sleight of hand tricks. Nothing usually escaped him, and yet… Vivian fought back a grin.  _ Interesting. _

Theodore didn’t seem to agree.

“That… that was my hand!” He stammered out, pointing at the cards. “I had the king and the three, I had the full house! I don’t know how, but he must’ve switched the hands, or, or cheated, or--”

“Kid, drop it.” Gabe’s voice fell dangerously low. The smile found its way back on his face after Theodore’s mouth shut with an audible  _ click _ . “You win some, you lose some. Sorry for the big loss, but there’s no need to lose your cool.”

Gabe turned to the Terradian, who seemed to be silently watching everything.

“You’re Terradian, sure as sure. My kin. Can I get a name? I’ve probably heard of ya, y’know? I know everybody, even if I don’t know their face. Just wanna get a name to congratulate you with.”

The Terradian gave Gabe an uninterested glance, before sighing.

“Fulton. Cassius Fulton.”

Vivian watched the color drain from Gabe’s face.  _ Oh? _

“You’re…” Gabe’s voice was barely over a whisper. “...they… they said you don’t gamble.”

“I don’t.” Fulton stared back at him. “I win.”

“Another round, gentlemen?” Vivian piped up.

“You--” Gabe’s face flared with anger, and he grabbed the front of Fulton’s jacket. “Where the fuck is Henrik?! He went missing after you led--”

Vivian wrapped his fingers around Gabe’s wrist and dropped his voice to a low rumble next to his ear.

“Gabriel,” Vivian rolled the r. “Don’t make a scene. Think of Amelia, eh?” Vivian purred, his gravelly Terradian holding a heavy shipyard accent.

Gabe stiffened, and slowly let go of Fulton, who looked at Vivian with a raised eyebrow. It’d be a waste to lose something so interesting, Vivian reasoned, and it wouldn’t do to have Theodore witness a stabbing.

“Now,” He switched back to a clean, crisp Terradian. “Another round?”

“I--,” Gabe tamped down the rage that was stiffening his face and sat back down. “Yeah... yeah. Another round.”

Fulton nodded hesitantly, before joining him. Vivian stepped back behind the table.

Controlling a deck was, in many ways, a sleight of hand trick, as were many of the stunts that Vivan pulled for his amusement. He learned to spot a misdirection or a clever hand from a mile away, simply because he was privy to it. 

And yet, he hadn’t caught Fulton. Vivian rubbed the back of a card with a tiny amount of whiskey, left from the shot from earlier, leaving the card nearly imperceptibly marked, unless one had a penchant for trying to sniff out whiskey at a casino loaded with bars.

He dealt Theodore the winning hand with the marked card and waited, keeping an eye on Fulton’s hands.

After they’d checked their hands, and all cards were returned, face down, to the table, the marked card was suddenly in front of Fulton. A ripple of thrill and frustration rolled through Vivian. Even when he was looking for it, he’d missed it.

Vivian almost wanted to ask Fulton to do the trick again, just to be able to stare at his hands and learn. 

He supposed he’d settle for doing something else to Fulton, then.

He waited until the bets were called. Fulton had placed all of his winnings on the line. Manny had the nerve to call it, and Theodore, after encouragement from Herman, raised it.

The instant before the players reached for the cards, Vivian switched the hands in front of Fulton and Theodore back again.

Theodore flipped over his cards, glanced at the others’ hands, and beamed. He’d won back all he’d lost and then some. His night was far from over, and Vivian’s job would reach its peak soon.

Herman sighed and left the table, his pockets empty.

Vivian savored what came next.

Fulton stared at his hand, clever eyes uncomprehending. Vivian watched as the realization hit him, and his eyes saturated with annoyance.

He shot Vivian a dark look.

Vivian winked back, letting a little bit of his amusement out in a smirk.

Watching Fulton’s eye twitch was far more entertaining than it should’ve been.

The next match, Vivian dealt Gabe the best hand, tamping down his smug smirk as he watched Fulton switch hands with Theodore once more. Before he flipped the cards, he switched Gabe and Theodore’s hands.

Theodore’s easily ignited passion for gambling was boring. Vivian had seen too many like him. Watching Fulton getting increasingly aggravated, however, was extraordinarily interesting.

Vivian bit his lip to keep from snorting at the way Fulton’s teeth ground together as he glared at Vivian.

“Motherfucker.” The pissed off whisper escaped from Fulton’s clenched teeth, just low enough for Vivian to hear. Excitement bubbled in Vivian’s chest, and he felt the retort rise from his throat.

He shoved it down.  _ Be professional. Be professional. Be professional. _

The cards flipped through his hands, natural as ever. 

“Gentlemen,” He deliberately schooled his voice to coolness, but he heard a flicker of amusement creep into the sound anyway. “Another game?”

He met Fulton’s eyes, and he could’ve sworn the air around him crackled as he opened his mouth to accept Vivian’s implicit challenge.

A passing curly-haired Gallian bumped into Fulton’s back, and Vivian watched every muscle in his body freeze. The Gallian’s face was loose, his pupils dilated and his posture relaxed.

He smelled strongly of cigarettes. Too strongly.

“I’m done for tonight, thanks,” Fulton mumbled without meeting Vivian’s eye. He seemed to be looking towards that bartender again.

Vivian subtly glanced behind him.

A relatively new hire. Rowan West. Good at making drinks, especially for a Terradian, and he had a face that seemed subconsciously trustworthy. He wasn’t dumb enough to be hated, nor was he smart enough to be nefarious.

Fulton got up from the table and followed the curly-haired Gallian a few paces ahead. 

Fulton’s face was covered by a hood, but he seemed to be chewing on his lip. 

Vivian thought three things.

  1. Cassius Fulton cares about Rowan West.
  2. Cassius Fulton is feared.
  3. Cassius Fulton is very likely about to deal drugs in one of the back alleys of my casino.



He watched Fulton’s receding back and glanced back towards Theodore, who still held his chin up, radiating arrogance. Theodore would still be here when he came back.

He waved over another dealer and switched places with him.

By the time he looked back out at the crowd, Fulton was gone. 

A pickpocket. A lockpick. A disappearing man. Whatever it was that Fulton did, he was good at it. Vivian bit down on his lip to keep his smile in check.

Vivian walked down hidden hallways and followed security blindspots, making sure to pass every corner of the casino with any potential for business. Fulton may be talented and feared, but Vivian was smarter. Fulton could only beat him the first time.

Once Vivian learned a game, he would never be beaten.

The strong smell of Bluebell stopped him in his tracks. He glanced down the narrow alley.

The curly-haired Gallian had handed Fulton a large, open bag of Bluebell powder, and was waving a thin straw for snorting in front of his face. Vivian saw the moment Fulton snapped.

If Vivian wasn’t looking for it, he’d have missed when Fulton drew his knife. 

Vivian flicked the safety off the pistol in the holster on his hip and shot Fulton’s knife out of his hand. 

Both heads instantly turned to him.

“Gentlemen,” Vivian started, his voice echoing in the silent alley. He smiled. “Refrain from engaging in such activities when near this establishment, please. I do happen to be rather fond of it.”

Fulton’s eyes narrowed at him, as if trying to figure him out, while his companion let loose a string of Gallian expletives before dashing away. Fulton didn’t join him.

“Normally, clever people run,” Vivian continued. 

“Never claimed to be. Why’d you do that?” Fulton stared at him suspiciously. 

A Terradian stabbing a Gallian. His casino got enough of a bad rep as it was; he certainly didn’t need to add more to the list.

“I got bored,” Vivian said instead, dropping the professional tone for a cheerful one. “Gambling’s only fun when the people are.”

Vivian blinked, and found Fulton standing directly in front of him, his back shoved into a wall and another knife pressed against his throat in a single breath.

“How many knives do you even carry on you?” Vivian asked, a little impressed.

“You didn’t come here just to get another fun poker game.” Fulton’s breath landed right on Vivian’s cheek. “Answer my question.” The dagger pressed against his neck.

Vivian shifted the barrel of his gun into Fulton’s side.

“A bullet moves faster than a knife, Fulton.” Vivian’s smile took a sharp edge. 

Fulton pushed his blade hard enough to draw blood.

“Willing to stake your life on it?”

Vivian was face to face with steel colored irises, reflecting secondhand moonlight off of nearby windows. He found his smile widening. He spun the cylinder of his gun, and the clicks seemed loud in the dark alley.

He dropped his voice to a soft sound, barely above a whisper. “I do like to gamble.”

Vivian heard Fulton click his tongue, and the pressure on his neck was gone.

Fulton stepped back, crossing his arms, the dagger still clenched in his hand.

“What do you want?” He asked flatly.

“A private desert,” Vivian replied, not entirely joking.

“What do you want  _ from me _ ?” 

Vivian’s gaze slid over his thin frame, his narrowed silver eyes, his mussed black hair. 

“That.” Vivian pointed at the bag of Bluebell in his hand. “Do you want more of that?”

Fulton’s grip on his dagger tightened.

“What, exactly,” Fulton’s voice dropped to a dangerously low snarl, “do you take me for?”

The tightly coiled anger radiated off of Fulton in waves, sending a shiver down Vivian’s spine. He ignored it.

“A Bluebell addict,” Vivian answered simply. He looked at Fulton more closely, a Terradian with focused silver eyes and steady hands. “A  _ former  _ Bluebell addict.” He considered the Gallian. “A dealer.” 

Fulton twitched, and Vivian knew he was right.

“You’re interesting.” The words slipped out of Vivian’s mouth before he could consider them, and he felt his smile reaching his eyes. 

Some of the tension seemed to drain out of Fulton. He took a few steps away from Vivian, eyeing the walls of the buildings next to him.

“You’re wrong,” Fulton replied. He stretched his arm out towards Vivian, and golden bullets fell from his sleeves. Vivian checked the cylinder of his gun. Empty. “I’m just a common thief.”

“When did you--” 

Fulton ran towards the wall and leaped, catching a divot in the concrete with his foot and another with his hand. Vivian looked up in awe.

“...seriously…?” Vivian’s voice came out in a puff of breath.

Fulton jumped to a window ledge. He sat down, his legs dangling over the edge. Fulton reached into his pocket and pulled out a golden locket. Vivian’s golden locket.

Vivian patted his pocket.

“You--” Vivian covered his mouth with his hand. “You… honestly…” Vivian laughed, a breathy stuttered sound that echoed in the alleyway. Vivian looked up at Fulton and smiled, genuinely. 

“You’re incredible,” Vivian’s voice seemed to dissolve into the air. His awe was soft-sounding; his laugh was hazy at the edges and more breath than voice, a stunning contrast from his usual professional tone. Vivian hadn’t thought he could sound like that anymore.

He liked it.

“Goodbye, cheater.” Fulton unlocked the window and went inside.

Vivian stared at the window long after he could no longer see Fulton’s figure. Exhilaration tugged at the edges of his heartbeat, and Vivian couldn’t keep the smile off his face if he tried.

“It’s not goodbye,” Vivian whispered to the empty air. “I’ll make sure of that.”

…

Theodore was still sitting at the same table by the time Vivian returned. Vivian watched the way he poised himself, the confident flourish in the way he adjusted his expensive suit jacket. His wallet seemed considerably thicker.

He was barely recognizable. The confused, quiet Labelle boy was gone, and in his place was Theodore, a confident adult fitting for the title of heir to the Labelle Corporation: one of the most powerful names in trade, and thus, a leader and political figure of Cadece. 

But Vivian could see the slapdash way that mature mask was pasted together, a trembling wall that tried to hide an uncertain child. One night of successful gambling could not miraculously mature someone. 

Still. For a Gallian teenager who hadn’t even left Cadece, who hadn’t gone to the overpriced business school in Osmain his father probably bought his admission for yet, Vivian could admit, just slightly, that Theodore was talented.

After all, he’d managed to win most of the rounds even while Vivian was gone, and he’d picked up Terradian slang awfully quickly; he was joking and laughing with the regulars boisterously.

Adaptable. Observant. Empathetic. 

He would’ve been a great businessman. The House of Labelle would’ve flourished under his rule.

Alas.

Vivian straightened his tie and walked to the bar, tapping a young lady on her shoulder.

“Vivian.” She barely looked at him, but Vivian didn’t miss the way her lips twitched, and her eyes lit up with anticipation. “What might you need help with today?”

“Would it physically destroy you to assume that I was approaching you without ulterior motives?” Vivian pretended to droop. He let out a dramatic long-suffering sigh. “Sabrina… to think you think so little of me.”

“The day you approach me without ulterior motives is the day I die. Or… no. You would try to wiggle your way into my will.”

Vivian put his hand over his heart in mock offense. Sabrina pushed back her perfect auburn barrel curls and sent Vivian her business smile. Her eyes glinted dangerously.

“So? Who’s the poor sod you’ve got your sights set on today?” Sabrina’s Terradian was a perfect mirror of her past. Slang, back-alley dialect, quick consonants and rolled rs, backed by the clean, crisp Terradian she’d first learned in her prestigious academies. 

“Table 7. Richest looking one there.”

“How far?” Sabrina was smiling now, and Vivian could never understand how her peers had ever thought she was an innocent, perfect Gallian schoolgirl. Vivian was glad she wasn’t his enemy.

“Get him in debt. Just enough so he’ll feel too ashamed to go home.”

Sabrina reapplied her lipstick and popped her red lips. Her smile seemed to stretch over her entire face. She waved to Vivian.

“Wish me luck!”

“You won’t need it,” Vivian smiled back. 

Sabrina sidled up to Theodore and ran perfectly manicured red nails along his arm and neck. Vivian watched his face turn an alarming shade of red as Sabrina purred something in his ear.

The boy was besotted, near immediately. Theodore pasted on a hasty smug smirk on his face, ushering Sabrina into an empty chair at the poker table. Vivian tried not to snicker.

Sabrina won round after round, and the smirk fell off Theodore’s face. Vivian watched the desperation enter his eyes after round four, overshadowing the confidence that he’d so hurriedly swept together. 

Sabrina draped herself over the table, pretending to act drunk. She giggled at Theodore, taunting him with red lips and nails. Theodore grit his teeth and borrowed a sum from the casino to keep gambling.

Less than ten rounds later, Theodore had joined Vivian at the bar, eyes empty and hopeless.

“Bad night?” Vivian spoke in a quiet Gallian, softening his expression. Theodore looked up immediately at the sound of his native tongue and crumbled immediately, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Gryst… you have no idea.” His voice cracked. His Gallian was far better than his Terradian, Vivian noted. “I… lost everything. My tuition, my honor.”

“I understand that,  _ ami _ .” Vivian pretended to look wistfully into his shot glass, tacking on a common Gallian endearment for good measure. “You know, the same thing happened to me.”

“Real… really…?” 

“Yes,” Vivian lied. “I was about to go to Osmain for university, but I gambled away my tuition and got into debt here. I was so stupid.” Vivian offered a weak smile. “Just wanted some extra pocket money.”

“That’s exactly what I thought.” Vivian saw the moment Theodore recognized him as the dealer from before. “Is that why you work here? As a dealer? To pay off your debt?”

Vivian gave him a sad smile.

_ “De tá de tá.”  _ The Gallian saying, a simple “it is what it is,” fell out of his lips without a problem. Theodore’s face crumpled in sympathy.

“Do I… do I have to work here too?” Theodore was scanning the casino, a little bit of the hopelessness gone from his face. “You know, maybe it won’t be so bad. I’ll have you after all, and I’m sure you’re not the only Gallian here.”

_ He’s unexpectedly optimistic. _

“Actually,” Vivian pretended to realize something. “My cousin, who works at the shipyards, said that there was an open position there. Pays quite well. I didn’t take the offer because I have to stay here for a couple of reasons, but it might suit you.”

“What’s the position?”

“Gatekeeper. You’ll decide who gets into Cadece and who doesn’t. The immigration laws have gotten stricter lately, so it turned into a not-so-pleasant job, but they’ve upped the pay to be worth your while. You should have the debt paid and the tuition back in about half a year.”

“Not-so-pleasant? What makes it not-so-pleasant?”

“Not sure.” It was the people. It was always the people. Desperate refugees, running away from the Great Aciatic War seeking asylum. Wounded civilians. Grief-stricken families. Terradians trying to run away from Cadece, willing to do anything for the gatekeeper to let them out. Gallians thrilled to stomp on their dreams, a gun raised to tear-filled eyes.

Theodore was smart, and he knew it. He wouldn’t last a month without trying to cleverly smuggle in a few refugees or let a few Terradians by. 

_ Theodore _ , Vivian reaffirmed as he looked at the clear eyes of the Labelle boy, _ is kind. _

Vivian would be there when his kindness led him to ruin.

Theodore stared at the marble bar counter for a few minutes, contemplating the idea. Several times, he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“You said…” He’d finally managed a cracked whisper the fourth time. “I’d have the debt and tuition back in six months…?”

“Should be. Six months as a gatekeeper would get you about 200 thousand sule.”

“200  _ thousand?  _ That’s the normal amount for a gatekeeper?” 

“Not exactly. My cousin doesn’t want the gatekeeper job, you see, so you’ll get the normal salary and an extra dose of hush money from that troublemaker cousin of mine.” Vivian winked at Theodore and smiled, as if letting him on a joke. 

A small smile crept onto Theodore’s face.

“I’ll do it.”

“Lovely,  _ ami.  _ I’ll let him know. What’s your name, by the way? I just trusted you since you were Gallian, you see. Rare to see one around here.”

“It really is. Terradians are a boisterous sort of people.” Theodore laughed. “They’re fun. I like them.”

Theodore described the Terradians the same way someone would describe animals at a zoo. Even so, his words were nicer than most.

“I can’t imagine having to work by them everyday. I hope it looks up for you soon.” Theodore added on, holding his hand out for Vivian to shake. “My name is Theodore La-- uh, no nevermind. Just Theodore is fine.”

“I look forward to working with you, Theodore.”

Vivian smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> hello! thanks for clicking on this rando online novel and giving it a shot!  
> kudos and comments make my day :D


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